TM Discord Challenge, Episode 5x22 Red John's Rules, Trope: Unreliable Narrator. Credit (and thanks) to Leafenclaw for the core idea concerning RJ. It begs to be explored further, but I went off on this tangent… whoops. :o)
Lots of dialogue from Red John's Rules here. I don't own The Mentalist!
Jane follows Lisbon into the cheap motel room. He's feeling a little rusty after a week in his attic, but the coppery smell of blood and that particular smiley face have a way of jolting his senses.
His eyes swivel to the crime techs. They haven't noticed their audience and their conversation is borderline disrespectful, making early conclusions. Jane cuts in. "You're sure this wasn't Red John, are you, Mr. Partridge?"
He looks properly chastised. "Uh... yeah."
Jane studies him, doesn't back down, makes him squirm. This guy has been wrong every single time. Is that intentional? "You 100% sure?"
"No, I mean, I-I'm surmising. You're the expert." He stutters.
Jane wonders. He can't get a good read. But these days he suspects everyone. Not to mention he has no idea who this other forensics guy is. "Well, you heard what she said," he jerks his head towards the door in dismissal.
"Excuse me?" Partridge squeaks.
"Out." He responds to their protests by repeating himself. "Out." They file past him through the open door. His senses shift. Lisbon is standing too close. A week away from her was harder than he expected. As he gets closer to figuring out who Red John is, he finds himself hoping. Considering the future.
This is not the time.
He steps closer to the body, masking his thoughts with action, forcing himself to see what's in front of him. The victim's blood saturates the bed and floor. The way she is displayed, everything just so. He knows. This is the work of Red John.
Her face was left unmarked, it has to be intentional. "She looks familiar. What do we know about her?"
"She's a Jane Doe." Lisbon rattles off some facts. There's a missing baby. And he finds an interesting clue with a connection to his past. What is Red John up to?
The crime techs shift impatiently outside the door and Jane has what he needs. He looks to the open door, then nods at Lisbon. "You ready?"
"It's strange," she muses. "Right at this precise moment when you get close, Red John reappears and murders somebody. It's got to be a coincidence, right?"
"I hope so."
"How close are you?" she half whispers.
He smiles and pinches his fingers together. "About this close."
"You got some names yet?"
"Oh, I've got some names."
"You gonna tell me?"
He moves his fingers to his lips in a shushing gesture. He breezes out the door. "All yours, guys."
X
In the car, Lisbon buckles up and gives him a long look before she puts the car in gear.
"Are you going to make me beg?" she asks.
"For what?" He grins at her. Her hair is partly pulled back, showing off her earrings. A delicate touch, at odds with her cop demeanor. She's full of these little inconsistencies. Each one is a delight to discover.
"The names. You've gotta have at least one you can tell me."
"I don't think that that's a good idea."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Please watch the road," he admonishes. He can study her profile better when she's driving. They lapse into silence. He sighs and looks out his own window.
This is not the time.
X
The clues lead to the carnival he grew up with, and he realizes who the dead girl is. Eileen Turner, also known as Leelee Barlow. He knew her… so many years ago.
"It's like he just reached into my head and killed a happy memory. How is that possible?" he tells Lisbon in her office. Her eyes are so sad. She's the only one he knows how to open up to. It's been getting easier all the time.
He wishes… he wishes things could be lighter. He wants to make her smile. But they have a long car ride ahead of them, more leads to check out. He can't lose his focus during a Red John case. Especially not now.
X
The room is dim, full of rich furnishings and purposeful atmosphere. Mystery and intrigue.
Jane sits back against one side of the couch, while Lisbon perches on the edge, keeping an obvious distance between them. Jane feels every inch of that distance and straightens his vest.
Sean Barlow settles into the chair across from them. Eileen's uncle. He left the carnival circuit a long time ago, but Jane remembers. "The Barlows always tried to pass themselves off as "real" psychics," he informs Lisbon.
After exchanging some clearly false niceties, Barlow goes for the jugular.
"Where were you?" He turns Lisbon's question about his alibi back on her. "Lying in bed, thinking of Patrick. You're a little bit in love with him, eh? But he's so secretive and controlling. That's hard, isn't it?" Barlow lets the words roll out in his Irish brogue. He smiles in his own amusement as he notes her reaction.
Lisbon shrinks into herself, just slightly, refuses to look at Jane.
Jane is already regulating his breathing, maintaining a relaxed stance. He can't afford to give anything away to this man. He takes a quick assessment of her body language. He feels some pride that she is holding up so well.
She can keep some secrets.
At the same time he desperately wants to pick apart her thoughts. Wants to know how close Barlow has hit. Wants to turn his back on death and misery and explore her secret desires.
This isn't the time.
He speaks up to spare her response, allows her to keep her composure. He moves them back on topic. "We're here because of Eileen."
X
"Wow. That was intense." Lisbon lets her facade fall as they leave the building.
"You okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine. You okay?"
Lying in bed, thinking of Patrick. He has to clear that image from his head, and fast.
"He didn't spook you, did he?" he deflects
"Yeah. He didn't spook you?" she is using his tricks against him, turning his questions around.
"Ah, he's a good showman. I'll give him that." He doesn't want to talk about psychics anymore.
X
The missing baby gives them another angle to the murder. It's unlikely Red John has her, which means there's someone else to bait and catch. An accomplice or… there are too many suspects. He sets a play in motion and now they have to wait.
Waiting is dangerous. Stakeouts are too quiet.
"Look —" Lisbon starts, but he cuts her off.
"You know, I've been thinking…"
"So have I."
"You first," he concedes.
"I can't work like this —"
Nope. She's still processing the psychic reading. There's too much tension, but it's mixed up with the case. It's not time for feelings. He has to skirt this carefully. "No, sorry, wrong. Me first. Um, Sean was right. I've been... secretive and controlling, and... "
"A name?" she asks eagerly, taking the bait.
"You need to promise me you will not tell another living soul— nobody."
"That's not how this works, Jane."
"My list, my rules."
"We never agreed to that."
"We're partners, right? Strict confidence."
"Yeah, whatever. You're probably going to pull my chain anyway." She dismisses him and goes back to looking out the window.
He hates to be ignored. He knows that she knows it. She's not convincing at all, just a little too on edge. He loves that she's trying to play him. He picks out the juiciest name he has.
"Gale Bertram."
Her reaction is very satisfying. She looks at him in horror. "What?"
"Your boss," he affirms.
"You're serious." He wiggles his eyebrows and lets her make her own conclusions. She's panicking. "How am I going to face him?"
"We're up." One of their suspects has arrived. He can see Lisbon shift into work mode. Crisis averted.
X
They catch Miriam Gottlieb, a social worker, red handed. She answers the questions about the case, but she won't say any more. She gives Jane a thick envelope from Red John. She's done talking.
She dies during the drive to the station. Poison.
Red John always gets what he wants.
It's the next day before everything is settled. Paperwork is done, the baby is back with her family. Just one thing left. The message from Red John — a DVD.
Jane has it memorized before there is finally a knock on the attic door.
He knows that knock intimately. The heavy metal sliding door makes the sound reverberate. It gives it weight. He pulls it open and pauses.
She is framed perfectly in the doorway. She is so lovely. He ushers Lisbon into the attic and slides the door shut behind her. It closes with a solid thump.
She looks up at him and doesn't waste any time. "What's on the —"
In one step Jane is in her space, hands cupping her cheeks. Her breath hitches, and he's already leaning in. Their lips meet; seeking, warm, consuming.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breathing erratic. Her hands are grasping his wrists, holding him in place. "What was that for?" she whispers.
"We got him," he breathes. She needs to see him, but she doesn't leave his embrace. She meets his gaze, questioning. "I have some names."
"How?"
"The disc. Lisbon, it's brilliant." His eyes are twinkling with mirth. "He thinks he's playing me, but he gave up seven names. Seven suspects. One of them is Red John."
"That's amazing. But why would he give himself up like that? How can you trust it?"
"That's the beauty of it. Teresa, he has to be on that list. He thinks I have a list, and if it doesn't match he gives himself away. All of our deception over the last few weeks has paid off."
"It really worked? Dragging your notebook to all those crime scenes? He really thought you could remember over two thousand names?"
"All those well placed musings, mad scribblings at all night diners. The bickering and banter. All worth it. I couldn't have done it without you."
He kisses her again, and she melts into him, sliding her hands behind his neck. She toys with the curls there. "I thought the game was up yesterday, the way Barlow called me out. I've been slowly unraveling."
"So have I, the way you kept looking at me." He kisses her again and draws his hands down her arms, holds her hands sweetly. "He wanted to rattle you."
"It worked. Do you think he really knows?"
"All guesses. We don't have to hide much longer."
Heat passes between them. She licks her lips as she stares at his mouth, then drags her gaze back to his. She breathes deeply, and blinks slowly. Back to business.
"Show me the disc. What are the names?"
Jane pulls her towards the laptop set up on the small table by the window. He's walking backwards, watching her. "Just a warning. It's Lorelei."
She grimaces briefly, then composes herself and nods. A dead woman won't come between them.
He pushes back on the screen so they can see it easily still standing. He hits play and moves behind her, his front flush with her back. His arms slide around her middle and he hides his face in her neck. She absently caresses his arm as she watches.
Lorelei's message is painful, but the names… oh, those names.
Lisbon whirls in his arms, loosening his hold. "You weren't kidding about Bertram," she says, surprised.
He moves his eyes up from her collarbone. "I didn't spend a week up here doing nothing. He's coming, but we're ready. We're finally ahead of the game."
She's still processing, wide eyed and shocked. "Well… what do we do next?"
He steps closer again, his lips trail on her neck. "It's been a very long week." Heat, suggestion, promise. His hands slide along her waist, anchoring her.
She grips his arms. "Jane," she warns, but wavers closer.
"Teresa," he mimics. His breath puffs against her skin and she shivers. "We have time."